Chapter 7
Before seven a.m., Alex found himself attempting to put out several fires. His first call was to Coach Barton, who answered like he’d actually managed to get coffee, which was more than Alex had achieved. Alex’s coffee was still sixty seconds out.
“Simba?”
“We have a situation,” Alex went straight for the meat of it. “Gooly heard a rumor about Vasiliev. It’s on the ’net. Are the Dragons trading Vasiliev into the team?”
Coach left a very big pause, and in that single moment, Alex felt his stomach sink.
“You are fucking kidding me, Coach,” Alex snapped.
“Alex, think about this rationally. The management team are concerned we have a hole in the wing.”
“Then they shouldn’t have traded Jacobs. He was—”
“This isn’t up for discussion, Alex.”
“They’re putting Vasiliev on the same team as Gooly. Can’t you see that’s fucked? Why did no one talk to me about this?”
Too many decisions made up high made Alex’s job of keeping the team cohesive so much harder.
“Animosity and rivalry is always good for ratings.”
“Between teams, but not on the same team.”
“Gooly will get over it; he’s a professional.”
“You don’t win if you don’t have team chemistry,” Alex snapped. “Do I need to explain that?” He knew he was sailing close to the edge; Coach was the person Alex should take this to, but since they’d traded Rafferty in and swapped out the next big hope in the shape of Jacobs, he’d been feeling like dry tinder. One spark and he would lose his temper. Part of his job was to smooth the path between coach and team, or management and team, but it seemed to him that the guys claiming to run the team were forgetting the guys on the ground playing the damn game.
“The team look to you—”
“The more chemistry and leadership we have in the room, the better chance we have.” He was coming over as disrespectful, and he knew it, but hell, no one was listening to him.
“The team is strong,” Coach insisted.
“We’ve already had one closed-door session.” Why couldn’t he grasp what Alex could see happening?
“I’ll take it all under consideration,” Coach said. “How’s the arm?”
Frustration snapped inside Alex. “The arm is good, but that doesn’t stop me worrying that management are undermining—”
“That’s enough, Alex, seriously. You’re not seeing the bigger picture—”
“Fuck that,” Alex snapped. “You’re leaving us to deal with this at grass roots level; we’re the ones who have to make this work. Please, Coach.” he added, calling on his long relationship with the man. “You know as well as I do management shouldn’t make sweeping additions to roster without talking to me. To both of us.”
Coach was silent for a moment, and Alex almost believed that he would actually agree with him that the shuffling of players was to the detriment of the team. Surely he could see that bringing in Vasiliev was a bad move?
“I’ve made a note of your concerns,” Coach finally said. “I’ll catch up with you at physio.”
Jesus Christ on a crutch. Alex stared at the phone for a moment after the call disconnected. That was the end of the conversation, and Alex had yet another issue to add to the mess in his head of what it meant to be captain. He’d already built something from nothing after he’d joined the new team, but all that had been teamwork. What the hell was going on now that meant he was being left out in the dark?
He made a mental list. Talk to Gooly before there was a chance this was happening for real, and well before it was made public. Hell, as part of that, he needed to find out what had Gooly and Vasiliev hating each other as much as they did.
Warring Russians on my team. Great.
The second call was to his manager, Warren Miller, updating him on his arm.
“We need to talk endorsements,” Warren said immediately when the call connected; there were never any real pleasantries between them. Warren was all business, but he always got the best for Alex, so Alex didn’t ever call him on his bedside manner.
“Okay, but I wanted to talk about—”
“I have a shortlist. A couple are big payouts—seems like rescuing babies from burning cars is bankable. Good call on that, by the way, hero.”
Alex ignored that part, because Warren saw Alex as a set of numbers at the end of the day. When Alex had first met him, as a green prospect, they’d clicked immediately, Warren had been just as new, the son of an agent who was well known in the business. They’d grown together, and it was Warren who’d worked out Alex’s latest contract for the obscene amounts that sat mostly in his bank; well, apart from the investment in his house and his Ferrari.
“So the list of five—can we talk about them? Bottom line is that for three of them we’d need availability that would clash with your camp for the kids in July.”
“That’s a no, then.”
“They suggested they might be able to move dates.”
“Suggested? Might? If they wanted me that bad, they would have checked times for the camp first.” He wasn’t ready to move anything he’d committed to for something as needless as promo. “I’m putting you on speakerphone.”
He poured his third cup of coffee, then pulled together everything he needed for an omelet; hell, he was finally functioning like a human being. The whole time, Warren went on about the options, before stopping and waiting for an answer.
“I’ll do the clothing line,” Alex said. That was the only one that had caught his attention.
“Jesus, Alex, you’re killing me. Did you not hear the part where that will earn you less than a third of the other ones? Are you even listening to me?”
“It’s a new company with an ethical stand, with a percentage of profits going to children’s charities. It’s a no-brainer,” Alex said.
“So you were listening to me then,” Warren muttered. “Selective hearing when it comes to dollars.”
“Yes, I was listening, and yes, that’s the only one I’ll do.”
Warren sighed dramatically, muttered something under his breath about bottom lines, which Alex ignored, and then sighed again. “One last thing. We need to set up a photoshoot.”
“I thought I was done with all those for this season.” He hated them, all the posing and posturing and being asked to pout.
He was a bad-ass hockey player; he did not pout.
“No, the one with the baby, the one you saved.”
“Hell, no. That family have been pestered enough.”
“Hell, yes,” Warren insisted. “The dad is still in the hospital, so it’s a good human interest story.”
“I said I wanted a private visit and you agreed to organize it.” He looked over at the small box of baby gear he’d taken from the arena and the adult-sized shirts to go with it. He didn’t want any more fuss, and he’d bet the family didn’t either.
“The team—”
“No. I’m not parading that poor family for publicity.”
“Alex—”
“No.”
He could be as assertive as Warren, and that was one thing he was winning hands down.
Warren cursed. “Okay, I’ll pass that up, as long as you’re sure, because you know the team will send the family tickets, and then you’ll be stuck meeting them for the first time at the arena instead of a place that I can control.”
“Bye, Warren,” Alex said, and ended the call before his agent thought of anything else to say. At least the call gave him focus; he had four hours to kill before meeting up with Jo, and he knew exactly what he was going to do. Before everything was fucked up.
They let him onto the ward, but only because there were two Dragons’ fans who knew exactly who he was and why he was there. He’d brought extra jerseys, and used them liberally to get back to where he wanted to be. Hospital management said he needed security to go with him, but that was cool. Anyway, the guard was a Dragons’ fan as well.
“Emmet,” he introduced himself. “Big fan; seen every single game.”
“Nice to meet you, Emmet.”
“Hope you don’t mind me saying, but you’re kind of weak on the wing as a whole,” Emmet said. Everyone was a critic, but he was only saying what Alex already knew. “That Loki, though, he’s fast. Sometimes he looks too fast for you.”
Alex nodded and smiled, his usual way of dealing with any and all advice he received from fans. He knew he was slower than Loki. Hell, Nic was one of the fastest in the league, he didn’t need to be told.
Which led him to consider the thorny issue of yet another fiery Russian like Vasiliev being added to the team. Yes, they needed the improvements on their wing, but he was stuck between loyalty and the chance to win more games.
Too much to think about.
“Is it true you’re looking at that Vasiliev guy? He’s good—bit erratic, but good.”
In answer, Alex shrugged, and Emmet kept talking.
“Anyway, I think that closed room thing was good. Since then, I honestly think you’ve got every chance of getting to the playoffs this year. First time I ever said that.” Emmet offered a fist bump, which Alex met. He’d never heard something like that from a fan with as much confidence before. That was no empty hope. That was a man who’d watched them play and thought they had the skills and heart to make it all the way to post-season.
“Thank you,” Alex said.
Emmet nodded, and in reflex, Alex offered him tickets for the next game.
He looked affronted. “Season ticket holder,” he announced as the door to the elevator opened onto the fifth floor. “This way.” Emmet led him to a waiting area and encouraged him to sit down. He vanished through the door, and then just as quickly he was back and sitting down opposite Alex. “Won’t be long.”
Alex pulled out his cell and thumbed to his texts, looking at the very simple Okay that Jo had sent back to his suggestion of a time to pick her up for lunch. He began typing out a message, but his cell buzzed with a call. Gooly’s name came up on the screen, and he dismissed the call and pocketed his cell when it hit him he shouldn’t be using his phone in a hospital.
Emmet didn’t say anything; he was engrossed in an old Nat Geo magazine and had clearly said all he was going to say about the Dragons’ wing situation.
When the door opened, it startled Alex, and he stood immediately like he’d been discovered somewhere he shouldn’t be. Then again, he wasn’t supposed to be there; maybe he should have waited for the proper meet-up sanctioned by the team and hospital.
“Mr. Simard,” the woman said. She was small—he dwarfed her—and she was crying. Not sobbing, but her eyes were wet, and she had a hand to her mouth. “Come with me.” She held out a hand, and he took it with his injured one because he needed to grab the box of baby gear with the other. Then she gently eased him out of the door and further down the corridor he’d come in on, ending at room twenty-one. She went straight in, no hesitation, and only when they were inside did she release his hand.
In the bed was the man he recognized from the accident, in his arms was a tiny baby, and sitting at his side was a young boy who looked maybe six or so. The boy looked at Alex curiously, then stared outright at him. Alex smiled, but the kid blushed and dropped his gaze.
“This is him,” the woman said, and tugged at his shirt to bring him closer. “This is Alexander Simard, the man who…” She pressed a hand to her lips again, and tears ran freely from her eyes. Then she looked up at Alex. “Mr. Simard, this is my husband, Derek, our son, Mikey, and our baby, Izzy.”
Derek smiled at Alex, but his eyes were damp. He looked regretful, and nodded at his right arm swathed in bandages and his left holding Izzy. “I would shake your hand…” he murmured.
Alex wasn’t sure what to say and decided maybe humor would lessen the tension in the room. He indicated the box in one arm and the cast on the other, “Snap.”
That was enough to make Derek smile. “Abby, can you take Izzy for me?”
Abby took the baby and perched on the side of her husband’s bed. “We don’t know how to thank you. Where to even start to thank you. Would you like to hold her?”
She held out Izzy, and Alex immediately put the box of things on the table next to the bed and reached for her. Being the older brother to two sisters meant he at least had experience with babies. He took Izzy and cradled her head.
“You put yourself at risk,” Derek said, and his voice cracked a little. “You got Izzy out. You didn’t need to go back for me, but you did.”
Alex still couldn’t form words, staring down at tiny Izzy. “How old is she?”
I should know this. I should know her name, and her parents, and that Izzy had an older brother, and we all have a connection that will never leave.
“Three months,” Abby murmured. “You were her guardian angel.”
That he couldn’t handle, and he smiled down at Izzy as she clutched his finger and blew a raspberry at him.
“How is she?”
“Like it never happened,” Abby said, and Alex looked up with a smile on his face to catch the look that passed between Abby and Derek.
“What? Is something wrong with her?”
“Nothing,” Derek said, even as Abby was going to say something.
Alex wanted to know, but Derek and Abby were quiet, and the tension in the room returned. So he changed the subject. “I have some things in the box, from the Dragons’ shop.”
Abby opened the box, pulling out the tiniest T-shirt and holding it up. It was team red with a baby dragon on the front.
“It’s the new logo for the little teams,” Alex explained, and felt the blush rising. “That’s Roary the baby dragon.” He glanced down at Izzy, “It’s going to be way too big for her.”
“Some of the things she’s had passed down from my sister’s children swamp her, and she’ll grow into it,” Abby said, and pulled out several tiny items of clothing—a hat, a jacket, some little high-top slippers, even a plastic hockey stick and foam puck. It was a big box.
Alex cleared his throat. “Obviously I have friends on other teams, if you don’t follow the Dragons…”
“We’re from Burlington—of course we follow the Dragons,” Derek said loyally.
“My brother played college hockey,” Abby said. “He teaches the little ones now, but not for the baby dragons, a few towns over. He’s coaching Mikey as well.”
“Uncle Jim’s mean,” Mikey interrupted, “He shouts a lot.”
Mikey looked like he needed reassurance. “Lots of coaches shout,” Alex said, although why a coach for little ones would shout was something else altogether. Still, Alex had seen a lot of pushy parents and focused coaches in his years in hockey.
“I like the Dragons. I want to play for them one day,” Mikey said with a slight lisp. Alex could work with missing teeth. “I lost a tooth and asked the fairy for a hockey stick, but all I got was a dollar.”
Alex caught Abby’s grimace.
“Tooth fairies don’t bring sticks,” Alex said when he saw Abby floundering. “Even though I asked all the time.”
“Oh,” Mikey said, and blinked at him like something coming from him about the tooth fairy made absolute sense. “Look, I drew a dragon.”
“Wow,” Alex said, and crouched down at Mikey’s side. He’d clambered off the bed and was at a small coloring table with pens everywhere.
Mikey gave a gap-toothed grin. “I can draw dragons,” he said, and proceeded to draw something with the red crayon, adding lines in black.
Alex was suitably impressed. “That’s awesome. Can I take that for the dressing room?”
“Really?” Mikey said, and he looked suspicious. “Will you show Ryan Flynn? He’s my favorite player.”
“Is he? Hey, tell you what, you keep it, and you bring your family down, and we’ll hang it together, maybe after the next matinee game, and you can meet Ryan. And before that, another day, if you bring your skates we could do a few laps on the ice at the practice rink.”
“Can we?” He wasn’t talking to Alex; he was focused entirely on his dad.
Derek looked at Alex, who nodded it was okay. “Of course, if Mr. Simard says it’s okay.”
“Call me Alex, please. And I’ll get you some of your own Dragons’ stuff, because we don’t just have things for babies, but big boys as well,” Alex reassured Mikey.
Alex stayed and chatted for a while, listening to the fact that Izzy hadn’t been sleeping and that driving her around helped her sleep, much as it had done with Mikey when he was a baby.
“What will you replace your car with?” Alex said, because he liked cars, a lot, and that was a safe conversation.
Derek shrugged. “Not thought about it,” he said. “Not sure what the um…thing is,” he finished lamely, and changed the subject to talking about how the press kept trying to get in to interview them. That was enough for Alex to stop asking about the car, but he didn’t forget. He had calls to make when he got out.
Derek clearly wanted to change the subject. “Do you think that the Dragons need some help on the right wing in the second and third lines?”
They chatted about wings and lines and centers, and Gretzky, because every hockey conversation had to include The Great One, it seemed. By the time he left, Derek was sleepy, Mikey was drawing dragons holding hockey sticks, and Abby was feeding Izzy. They were a nice family, and Alex had enjoyed his visit.
He left feeling lighter than he had since the accident. There was a reason for the pain in his arm, and for missing games, and it was that Izzy and Derek were whole and alive.
Emmet-the-guard was hovering outside and stopped when Alex went into the last office before the exit door, marked as Administration.
“Excuse me?”
Three people looked up at him, two in uniform and one in a suit. “Mr. Simard.”
“Alex, please,” he corrected. “I wonder if I could have a private word?”
The woman in the suit nodded at Emmet, and he and the two nurses left. The nurses shook Alex’s hand on their way out and offered a few words of support for the team; thankfully, neither mentioned the wing situation. Alex closed the door after them and stood uneasily by the door.
“Is everything okay Mr. Simard?”
“Alex, please,” Alex said again, and offered a hand to the administrator. “I’m not sure if you can help me, or who to ask if you can’t, but the Pearson family… The baby, Izzy—she’s okay?” Something undefinable was gnawing at him like he was missing a vital part of what was going on here.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss a patient’s—”
“Oh, I know,” he interrupted. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… Just, if there’s anything I can do, anything at all.” He leaned over and picked up a pen, writing the team office number on the scrap. “You can call me on this number, and they’ll get a message to me.”
Her officious mask slipped a little.
“The family is well,” she said.
“Thank you,” Alex said, and turned to leave, and then something struck him as he reached for the door handle. “If I can help personally, in a financial way, or fundraising to help the family… I mean, did they have insurance to cover all of this?” He knew how long financial issues took to clear.
“I can’t—”
“It’s okay, I know you can’t say anything. Just, you know where I am on a personal basis.”
He left with a smile and another thank you and the resolve to clear whatever debts the young couple may have accrued. He just had no idea how to go about that. Izzy had a place in his heart, and he guessed she always would.
One thing he could do was obvious. As soon as he was in his car, he put a call in to the local Toyota dealership, talking straight to the owner and discussing how he would like the guys there to donate a car, and that he would give them the next few photo op appearances for free. That way he wasn’t actually buying the family a car, and also the dealership had a win/win. So Warren would be pissed, but Alex felt like annoying his agent was way down on the list.
At least he’d helped with one thing. Next he needed to organize tickets and a tour for the next Dragons matinee game, and also some merchandise for a six-year-old boy. He knew exactly what to get for Mikey.
And now it was time for his date. With the sexy, appealing, tall, sultry-eyed, beautiful woman that he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about. He wanted her, in a purely basic way, the hottest way, and he also wanted to sit and talk and share everything with her.
Today was a good day.
He’d arranged with Jo that he would pick her up from her place. Jo lived not far from the firehouse, in a well-maintained block of apartments, and he parked and walked up to the entrance. There were an awful lot of names for a medium-sized building, so he guessed they had to be fairly small. He found the button for apartment eighteen and pressed it.
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” he said.
“I’ll be down in five,” she said.
So much for picking her up from her door, although he guessed this was her door in a way. It opened with dramatic force, but it wasn’t Jo who came out, but a younger woman. He smiled at her, but she didn’t return the smile.
“I’m Rose,” she announced, and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Uhm, hi,” Alex said.
She didn’t seem like she was about to launch into a reason why the Dragons needed to trade in to cover the wing. Not a hockey fan, then. If anything she looked pissed.
“Jo will be down in a minute,” she announced.
Alex considered the girl more closely. There was a look of Jo about her, albeit sharper, and her hair was blonde and, hell, she was significantly shorter. But the eyes were the same dark chocolate brown.
“And you are?” Alex asked when the shorter, sharper, version of Jo simply stared and he began to feel uncomfortable.
“Her sister. Didn’t you know she had a sister called Rose? Haven’t you talked?”
Wow, the accusations were flying thick and fast. Rose was clearly Jo’s tiny territorial guard dog.
The door flew open again, and Alex stepped back and away startled, thankful when Jo appeared. She looked out of breath, like she’d sprinted the whole way to the main door.
“Rose, I said no.”
Rose looked at her sister with a suspicious, narrow-eyed expression. “You haven’t read the blog posts about him that I have,” she said.
Shit, she does know who I am.
Jo groaned. “Rose, go back up, I’ve got it from here.”
Rose leaned in to her sister, “He might be a rich, utterly sexy hockey player, but he likes them short and blonde with perky tits, sis.”
Alex couldn’t help overhearing, not so much because he had good hearing, but because Rose had a theatrically loud whisper. He wasn’t sure where to look. Jo was scarlet, Rose looked defiant and accusatory, and Alex felt uncomfortable.
Then he realized he had to take control of the situation, because no one was saying a damn thing. In a smooth move, he tugged Jo closer, catching her off guard, and kissed her like he meant it. She didn’t fight, or move, or even really take part. He backed away a little.
“Short blondes were my choice until I met tall, sexy and gorgeous here in the shape of your sister,” he said. “Ready to go, Jo?” He held out a hand, and she took it, and Rose still hadn’t moved, although her concern had become a soft smile instead.
“Have fun, guys,” Rose announced, and went back inside.
“I’m so sorry,” Jo said. “She’s really protective and thinks she can just say what she wants. One minute she wants me to have sex with you, the next she’s all protective and worried.”
They made it to the car without Alex focusing on the word “sex”, which he thought was quite impressive. Alex hadn’t brought the Ferrari, leaving that at home for another day when he wanted to be millionaire-sportsman and not new-guy-Jo-just-met. Instead, he’d borrowed Loki’s truck. Still newish, it had that battered look about it, because let’s face it, Loki did not love cars the way Alex did. He held open the door, reached in and buckled her belt, stealing a quick kiss as he did so, shut the door, and jogged to the driver’s side. Only when he was in, with the doors closed, did he turn to her.
“In the interests of fairness, there are posts out there about me and other women. Even though NHL hockey is kinda new in town, this is Burlington, and hockey is everywhere. I sometimes get papped.”
“You’re saying I might end up on a blog?” She was teasing now; he could see it in her eyes, and the way her lips curved in a smile.
“Photos,” Alex said. “I can’t stop that other than by taking the right precautions.”
She appeared to consider the situation, worrying at her lip, and then she got a sly look on her face that had Alex smiling back.
“Okay, but you’d better like brunettes, because I’m not dying my hair blonde,” she said.
Alex reached over and captured a handful of her dark hair. “Never do that.”
“And I’m not getting a boob job.”
Alex released her hair and trailed a finger to her lips, holding it there for a moment. “Don’t you dare, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, and she pressed imperceptibly against his touch. “Just looking at you makes me hard.”
Her mouth fell open, and she grasped his hand. “I don’t do casual,” she said, so softly that Alex had to strain to hear. “But I don’t want forever.”
Alex chuckled and slid his hand free of her grasp, “So we’ll aim for something in the middle.”
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to push up her T-shirt and free her from her bra, and taste the nipples that hardened as they talked. Then he wanted to taste the rest of her, have the strong woman writhing under him.
With a chuckle of regret, he pressed a hand against his hard cock, and hoped that she didn’t notice. But she clearly had, because her tongue darted out to wet her lips and her eyes widened. He tried to apologize, because he wasn’t a fucking sex-driven Neanderthal, but then she moved in her seat, only a small movement but enough for him to know that she could be turned on right then; that she could want him.
“Alex?” Her voice was breathy, and he wanted to kiss her right there in the car.
“Don’t do that,” Alex pleaded. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
Alex shifted a little, his cock painful against the fly of his jeans. “Like you want me to… Jeez… We could go back to mine.” He hadn’t wanted that; not casual sex. He wanted to talk and get to know her, to do it right, but the way she was looking at him.
“I think the restaurant you chose would be safer,” she murmured.
Alex knew she was right, and he started the truck and left the parking lot, joining the main road and heading west. Had he blown everything by suggesting his place? That had so not been his intention, but it seemed that with her he’d lost his smooth.
“Raincheck?” she asked as they hit a forty zone, and he slowed. He couldn’t look at her, because she was so fucking sexy and he was clearly a horny teenager without any fucking sense. Literally.
“Cool,” he said, because that was the only word he was capable of. He wanted to readjust his cock, he wanted to taste her mouth, pull her to orgasm with his mouth and fingers. He wanted all that. But he wanted it the right way. So yeah, a raincheck was good. “Raincheck it is.”